


you are my nomad

by stevebuckiest



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Boys In Love, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crying, Dead Poets Society AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: He was clearly the epitome of Shield excellence. Important. Intelligent. Sure of himself. Beautiful. Everything Bucky was always expected to be, everything Bucky was supposed to be. Everything Bucky wasn’t.(a dead poets society au with a happy ending)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115





	you are my nomad

_You are my nomad, and I love you sideways daily- Richard Siken_

When Bucky first set eyes on him, his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

The boy was mesmerizing. Tall, broad shouldered, arms noticeably muscular even through the blue polyester of his uniform jacket. His handsome facial features were sharpened by the soft light given off the candle he carried in front of him- even the way he _walked_ was somehow attractive, stride strong and sure without being cocky. Bucky kept his eyes trained on him as he made his way to the podium at the front of the room and stood the the side of Dean Pierce.

He was clearly the epitome of Shield excellence. Important. Intelligent. Sure of himself. Beautiful. Everything Bucky was always expected to be, everything Bucky was _supposed_ to be.

Everything Bucky wasn’t.

The guilt of thinking this way about another boy caught up with him when he felt his father nudge a hand against his back. Everyone around them was standing up, preparing to recite the pillars of Shield emblazoned on the ceremony program. He tore his eyes away from the boy before anyone caught him staring. He couldn’t do this again. Not after Hydra.

As the room filled with recitations of the pillars (Vision, Honor, Discipline, Excellence- all things Bucky lacked), he couldn’t help but feel terrified that it might already be too late.

When he sat back down for the Dean’s welcoming speech about how Shield students were all _destined for greatness_ , he kept his eyes trained on the floor for the rest of the service. Being here felt like a mockery.

_

The feeling of inadequacy was not something Bucky was new to, having grown up in the shadow of his father’s achievements. But being at Shield, George Barnes’ alma mater, magnified that feeling to a level that was already almost unbearable. They had only been here for a few hours.

And it was only getting worse.

The Dean sought them out personally after the ceremony ended. When he had walked up, Bucky knew what was coming. The clasp on his shoulder, patronizing smile, and dreaded phrase: “ _You’ve got quite the name to live up to_ ”. He had heard it all before, but it never failed to make him flinch.

Just another sign of weakness from Bucky Barnes.

His voice came out too soft when he thanked the Dean, wanting desperately to leave, gather his bags, and hopefully hide in his room before his roommate was there. It took another five minutes of stilted conversation, but once he was free, Bucky felt a bit more like he could breathe again.

-

His father didn’t hug him before leaving.

It was a dumb thing to feel upset about, probably, but Bucky couldn’t help but feel bothered. His mother hadn’t even come with them- too busy with his younger siblings, which was understandable. But still, something in Bucky was always hyperaware of how his parents brushed over him.

He was still thinking about it when the door to his room cracked open. He looked up and- oh.

 _Oh no_.

“Hey.” The boy- _the_ boy- hovered in the doorway, charming smile on his face. “I heard that we’re gonna be roommates.” His voice was confident, left no room for a question, but Bucky couldn’t believe him. Not even Bucky’s luck could be this bad. It had to be a mistake.

It was the boy from the ceremony that Bucky had been staring at. Except now he was so much closer, and Bucky could see how blue his eyes were.

And they...were roommates?

“I’m Steve Rogers,” the boy- _Steve_ \- said, entering the room fully and sticking a large hand out towards Bucky, who swallowed and tried not to throw up.

“James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky,” he managed. Their hands met to shake and Bucky tried to act normal. He couldn’t help but note how firm and Steve’s grip was.

He was almost disappointed when Steve let go.

Steve pulled back and went over to his bed, the one on the right side of the room. His suitcases are on top, and he unzipped one to reveal a top layer of what looks to be white undershirts.

As he started to put them away, Bucky swallowed and tried not to picture him walking around with his muscular arms exposed and pecs straining against the tight, white-

“So why’d you leave Hydra?”

The sudden question came so far out of nowhere that Bucky jerked his head. His face felt hot, both from the thoughts he had been having the moment before and the sudden shame he felt. Had people been talking about him? Did they know? Did _Steve_ know?

“How....?” he forced out, shooting a questioning (and hopefully not terrified) look at Steve, who had turned back to face him.

“Oh, you know how schools are. News gets around fast about everyone, if you talk to the right person,” Steve shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Yeah,” Bucky said quietly, fear burning out as quick as it had come and leaving something colder in its place. He turned away from Steve so the bitter look on his face didn’t show. “I know.” Better than anyone, he thought. And then, to save face and answer Steve’s question, he forced his features into a small smile and turned back towards him. “My father went to Shield.”

“Oh, you’re _that_ Barnes.”

Oh, god. Him, too. Bucky was about to respond when the door to their room pushed open and three boys entered.

“Rumor is it you did summer school, Cap.” The boy who spoke was dark haired and on the shorter side, but had a self assured grin on his face that made him seem like he took up the whole room. Christ, did all Shield boys have personalities as big as Steve’s? Bucky was never going to make it here.

Steve laughed and opened a dresser drawer to start tossing socks into as he answered. “Yep, Chemistry. Father thought I should get ahead. How was your summer, Tony?”

Tony shrugged. “Keen. Rhodey, door, closed!”

A slender black boy with thin features who was just as short as Tony rolled his eyes, but leaned against the door to push it shut. “Yes, sir.”

Tony grinned cockily and spread his arms out like he owned the place. “Gentlemen! What are the four pillars?”

This must have been some kind of inside joke for them, because an almost synchronized chant of “ _Travesty, Horror, Decadence, Excrement_!” rose up so loud that Bucky felt a little worried that the Dean was going to come bust down the door for mocking the sacred principles of his institution. Which was the last thing Bucky needed, to be thrown out of another school his parents were paying thousands for him to attend.

The conversation continued on between the group of boys while Bucky went back to quietly putting his clothes away. He felt a little disconnected, a little left out, but he was nothing like these boys. What was Steve gonna do, invite a stranger along to buddy up with him and his friends he had known for years? He probably thought Bucky was a stiff. He probably wasn’t really wrong. Bucky _was_ boring.

“Oh, this is Bucky Barnes.” Steve’s voice had suddenly broken away from whatever topic had been at hand and for a moment Bucky didn’t register what he said. When he did, he looked up, eyes wide. 

“Nice to meet you.” He tried to be polite without sounding too uptight, and the beaming grin Steve sent at him had him smiling shyly as well.

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Rhodey. “I’m James Rhodes. You can call me Rhodey.”

Tony pointed at his own chest and simply stated, “Tony Stark” as if Bucky should have already known that.

The last boy in the room, a taller black boy with a gap toothed grin and buzzed hair raised his hand and nodded to Bucky. “Sam Wilson.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to do now, and when Steve opened his mouth to speak again, he thought he had been saved.

He had not.

“Bucky’s father is George Barnes,” Steve said, sounding almost like he was boasting. Bucky tried not to let his face fall too much. Here he thought things could start going well and then Steve had just- had just-

“Oh yeah, sure. How cool, Barnes, did daddy pay for you to come here?” Tony’s voice was mocking. “Join the club, Buckaroo.”

And then they all laughed, but Bucky, for once, was sure it wasn’t at him. Maybe they did have a little something in common, after all.

-

After a bit, Steve’s friends went back to their own rooms to unpack. Steve and Bucky were both almost done, having continued unpacking while Tony had regaled them with stories of the girls he had gone with this summer and the other two boys spoke about vacations they had been on, Sam to France and Rhodey to Hawaii. Steve hadn’t interjected much, and Bucky wasn’t sure he was welcome to add in. After Tony had quit yammering on about some girl named Natalie, Rhodey dragged him away and promised “Cap” they would see him later for a study group.

That left the two of them alone again. The room seemed a hundred times quieter without Tony in it (which Bucky could admit he didn’t exactly mind).

“So...why do they call you Cap?” Bucky spoke tentatively and inwardly cringed at how hesitant his voice came out.

Steve huffed and shut the last of his dresser drawers. “I’m captain of the soccer team.”

“Oh.” Of _course_ he’s the best at everything.

So Steve was perfect.

Bucky had just put the finished touches on organizing the desk set he had gotten for his birthday and Steve was lying on his bed when the knock on their door came. Whoever it was didn’t wait for an answer and pushed inside. It ended up being an older blonde man with a thin face, who Bucky assumed was Steve’s father.

Steve shot up on the mattress, and the apprehensive look on his face made Bucky wince in sympathy. He knew he had that look on his own face all too often, likely for similar reasons.

“Father? I thought you’d gone.”

Mr. Rogers didn’t acknowledge Steve’s statement. “Steve, I've just spoken to Mr. Nolan. I think that you're taking too many extracurricular activities this semester. And I've decided that you should drop school annual.”

Bucky wanted to leave. He hated dealing with secondhand emotions, and the crushed look on Steve’s face made something in his heart twinge. But Mr. Rogers hadn’t asked him to leave... he wasn’t sure what to do. Would things he worse for Steve if he left? Or did Steve not want him hearing whatever was about to come out of his mouth?

“But I’m the assistant editor this year.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Mr. Rogers didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. If anything, he sounded annoyed.

“But, father, I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair!” Steve’s voice was raising and Bucky closed his eyes, trying not to let his own anxiety enter alongside the already emotionally crowded room. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave, he wanted to-

“Young man, would you please excuse us for a moment?” The question- command- was towards Bucky, clearly.

He nodded, still not facing the man directly, and ducked out of the room as quickly as possible to hide his burning cheeks. He knew he was a coward, but he only felt like he could breathe once he got out into the hallway.

Noises from the bedroom drifted out, still, and Bucky closed his eyes. He wasn’t trying to listen, but it was hard to do that once Mr. Rogers voice started getting louder.

“After you've finished medical school and you're on your own, then you can do as you damn well please. But until then, you do as I tell you or you can see how many extracurriculars you’re allowed at military school. Is that clear?”

There was a long pause before Steve finally answered through what sounded like gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Rogers exited the room immediately after and strode down the hallway without a second glance at Bucky, who was still leaning against the wall by the door.

Could he go back inside now? He wasn’t sure. Maybe Steve wanted to be alone?

As if he had read Bucky’s mind, Steve called out “You can come back in, Bucky.” He sounded tired.

Bucky quietly entered the room again and shut the door behind him. Steve was lying back down on his bed again, hands in his golden hair and a blank expression on his face. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything or if Steve would get mad if he did. He hated being so unsure of everything, but this school was his second chance. He wanted to do things right.

“What’d you think of my father?”

Steve’s tone was bitter. It surprised Bucky that he’d said anything at all, so it took him a few moments to come up with a reply, struck again with an uncertainty of what Steve wanted to hear and what he wanted to say.

Mr. Rogers was like most men at schools like this. Demanding, strict, controlling. He reminded Bucky of his own father, but frankly Steve wasn’t a disappointment to his family like Bucky was.

“He, well- he.... um.” His word weren’t coming out right and internally he berated himself for it. It happened often when he was upset, but he wasn’t the one that should have been upset in this situation. He was an idiot and Steve could probably see it.

“Buck, if you’re gonna make it around here, you gotta learn to speak up,” Steve laughed emptily. “The meek might inherit the Earth, but they don’t make it into Harvard!” The words that rang out sounded so unlike something Steve would say, even just based off of the mere hours Bucky had known him.

Bucky flinched at the harsh tone of the truth but was also struck by the name that had come attached to it.

Buck? Steve had given him a nickname. For the nickname he already had. It meant nothing, probably, but that didn’t mean that Bucky couldn’t like it.

But he wasn’t supposed to like it anymore. Not after what had already happened. He blinked hard a couple times and tried to shake it off, which Steve took for a reaction to his harsh outburst.

“I’m sorry.” Steve let out suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. Bucky peeked over from his side of the room and saw that those blue eyes were now fixed on him directly. Oh. They looked duller than they had earlier. Steve himself looked duller than he had earlier, honestly. It was off putting to see someone so big and bright so put out, and Bucky wondered if this happened often.

He didn’t know what Steve wanted him to say. Again. “It’s alright, Steve. I get it,” he finally said. And he did. He knew what it was like, when your parents demanded so much of you and didn’t care what you yourself actually wanted.

They were both quiet for a long time after that.

-

The classes at Shield were almost identical to those Bucky had taken at Hydra.

Up until English.

The teacher, for starters, was utterly bizarre. He was five minutes late to class. The other boys had just started getting antsy in their desks when he had suddenly strode in, whistling a classical tune that Bucky knew he recognized but couldn’t place.

“ _Oh Captain! My Captain_! Who knows where that comes from? Anybody?” he had said, looking around the room. When no one answered, he had sighed heavily and looked at them with something akin to...pity? “Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, this class, you can either call me Mr. Erskine, or, if you're slightly more daring, O Captain! My Captain.”

It was an odd way to start off a class, needless to say. It didn’t get less weird as it continued, filled with recitations of poetry he didn’t need to reference the books for.

His name was Mr. Erskine, and he ended the class just as strangely he had started it, whispering to them all if it were a secret: “Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.”

It hadn’t meant much to Bucky besides just reminding him that his life would _never_ be extraordinary, but when he looked at Steve, sitting across the room from him, he felt something close to wonder at the expression of awe upon the blonde boy’s face.

-

A short while later they were all sweaty and tired after spending their sports period playing soccer. Steve had proven himself to be just as good at it as Bucky had assumed.

“Gotta hit the showers, boys. Last one there gets the cold water!” Tony called, jogging ahead of the slowly meandering group of teenage boys groaning about their sore bodies.

Oh boy. Just what Bucky wanted. A communal shower.

As he expected, it was hell to get through. He had showered as quickly as possibly, hurrying through the perfunctory motions of washing, hoping to get out before he had time to really consider that Steve was only feet away from him, groaning under the hot water and soaping up his body.

He was still thinking about it now, perched on a windowsill by the sink, waiting for the others to finish so they could go to dinner.

“Hey,” Steve chirped, snapping his fingers in front of Bucky’s face. Bucky tried not to jerk back in surprise. Or stare too much at Steve’s hands. Or you know, the rest of his upper body, still on display thanks to the towel wrapped around his slender waist. God. His _chest_.

Bucky swallowed.

Steve leaned in closer, seemingly oblivious to Bucky’s inner turmoil. “You want to come to study group with me tonight?”

_With me._

Steve smiled at him while waiting for an answer and scrubbed an extra towel over his wet hair. The fluffy blonde result made Bucky want to do something stupid, like run his hands though it to fix it.

“Uh, no. No, I’ve got some History I wanna do,” he said instead. He couldn’t stand doing this to himself anymore, at least for tonight. He looked down so he wouldn’t be tempted to stare at Steve’s nipples. And then tried not to stare at the sharp lines of his anklebones instead. Christ, was all of him perfect?

Steve sighed, seeming a little put out. “Suit yourself, Buck. Invitation still stands.”

Bucky wanted to scream.

-

The sight of Steve Rogers wearing glasses was going to be the death of Bucky Barnes. He looked beautiful all the time to begin with, but something about the glasses made him look it even more. He looked mature. Sophisticated. When Mr. Erskine asked him to read a textbook except to the class, Bucky wanted to bang his head on his desk. He was going to die. Or worse, get expelled again.

It didn’t matter that the passage Steve read was boring. His voice rang loud and clear, so smooth and deep, Bucky wished he could listen to it every second of the day. The entire class was intent on Steve’s reading, but that was for academic concern, not because of some stupid infatuation they couldn’t shake. He couldn’t help it.

Steve Rogers was mesmerizing.

It was getting worse, as time went on. The feelings Bucky had for Steve. He knew nothing would happen, nothing _could_ happen after last time. He wouldn’t let it.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t _want_. He couldn’t _have_ , but he could _want-_ andSteve made him want so much, more than he had ever wanted before. When Steve got that look on his face, enraptured with whatever poetry Mr. Erskine was reading or monologuing about, Bucky wanted to let himself feel the same about his life, the things he could want, and do, and have.

The ending statement for class the day Steve first wore his glasses stayed in Bucky’s mind for a long time after.

“That the powerful play goes on, and you  
may contribute a verse. What will your  
verse be?”

Bucky had no answer, but he thought that it would be nice to. After Hydra, he wasn’t sure of who he was allowed to be, but something about Mr. Erskine’s speeches have him more hope than he’d had in a long time.

-

At dinner that night, Steve slid in next to Bucky at the table and plopped something heavy in front of them. Bucky coughed, trying to hide the flush that had spread on his cheeks with Steve’s chest pressed against his arm. He was so close Bucky could feel his heartbeat. “Uh- what’s this?”

Steve let one of his crazy grins loose. “Erskine’s senior annual. I found it in the library, neat, huh?”

“Peachy keen,” Tony said dryly. He flung a french fry at Steve’s head and missed, hitting Bucky in the cheek instead.

“Watch it, Tony!” Steve laughed. “Aw, Buck he got ketchup on your face, lemme get it off.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Oh, it’s-“ He fell silent when Steve’s left hand came up to hold his face still, napkin held in his right hand and dabbing the ketchup off.

“There,” Steve said. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly, trying his hardest not to blush. “Now.... what’s in the annual?” he added, trying to distract from himself and how his ears were probably glowing red.

“Oh!” Steve lit up. “Listen to this. Captain of the soccer team, Editor of the school annual, Cambridge bound, thigh man, and Dead Poets Society."

“Dead Poet’s Society?” Sam piped up. “What’s that?”

Steve shook his head. “No clue.” And then a crooked smile grew on his handsome face and a glint appeared in his eye. “Wanna ask him?”

-

“O’ Captain, My Captain!” Tony yelled, bounding up behind Mr. Erskine, who was traipsing his way across the school grounds towards the lake. He turned, and when he saw the group of them, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, and Tony, he smiled kindly.

“Hello, boys,” he said pleasantly, straightening out the cuffs of his suit coat. “What can I help you with this fine afternoon?”

Steve pushed ahead of Tony, who already had his mouth half open to ask. “What was the Dead Poet’s Society?”

The cheerful expression on Mr. Erskine’s face grew more somber, but Bucky only had eyes for Steve, who was looking at the older man with eyes so bright, they were like stars. Erskine was quiet for a few moments, looking over each of them with a calculated haze. When he got to Bucky, he lingered for a moment.

Bucky felt like the man was looking into his soul.

Whatever Erskine was looking for in them, he must have found. He sighed, smiled wistfully, and spoke in a lowered voice. “The Dead Poets Society was dedicated to "sucking the marrow out of life." That's a phrase from Thoreau we would invoke at the beginning of every meeting. You see, we would gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelly -- the biggies -- even some of our own verse. And, in the enchantment of the moment, we'd let poetry work its magic.”

“You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting in the dark and reading poetry?” Tony asked incredulously. “Sounds a little bent.”

Erskine fixed him with a stern look. “No, Mr. Stark, it wasn't _just_ guys. We weren't a Greek organization. We were Romantics. We didn't just _read_ poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like  
honey. Spirits soared, women swooned and gods were created, gentlemen. Not a bad way to spend an evening, eh?” He straightened his collars and forced a more pleasant smile. “Thank you,  
Mr. Rogers, for this stroll down Amnesia Lane. Have a good day, boys.” And with one last strange smile, he left them to talk amongst themselves.

-

“Buck, are you coming tonight?” Steve’s grin was so excited it was practically maniacal.

Bucky hated to be the one to take that smile away, he really did. But he was already shaking his head and muttering out a sullen “No” before Steve’s blue eyes could make him say yes to something that he might regret.

He wanted so badly to say yes. The things Erskine had spoken of earlier... of honeyed words and sucking life’s marrow, they had made Bucky ache to feel something like that in a way he was allowed. But was that something he could really have? No. Hydra had proven otherwise. Years of struggling just to hold a conversation like a normal person had shattered the hope he had for his own words making someone feel that way. Endless situations where he’d had to stifle himself and his desires because no one could truly know, and no one could truly love him if they never knew the real him... it was best, he was sure now, to not go. Depriving himself of something he wanted was better than hating himself more and more every day for something he could have controlled. One mistake, and he would end up like the last time he slipped.

He was so deep and sure of his own misery that he forgot the one thing he hadn’t considered: Steve Rogers’ ability to be the most stubborn asshole Bucky had ever met.

“But you were there! You heard Keating. Don’t you want to do something about that?” Steve’s voice was righteously angry, as it always got when something happened that he didn’t agree with.

It was endearing _and_ infuriating, if Bucky was being honest.

But he wasn’t able to be honest about things like that, so he ducked his head and tried to hide and suddenly stinging eyes behind his hair and lashes. “Y-yes, but-“ he stumbled out, furious with himself inside for his lack of eloquence. It was always so embarrassing when this happened.

Steve didn’t give him time to stew in it too long. “But what, Buck!” he cried, throwing his hands up. They were in the privacy of their room, so they were alone and Bucky felt a fraction more comfortable than usual, so he finally stuttered out an answer that he had been trying to find for the past few minutes.

“Keating said that everybody… took turns reading and. And I… I don’t want to do that,” Bucky quietly admitted, refusing to meet Steve’s gaze when he stared at him in reverie. God, he was pathetic. But Steve had to have known, Bucky never read in class. He hated being the center of attention, had never been good at anything when noticed too much.

He was only good at being a nobody. The least memorable Barnes, least likable of his friends, least favorite person even in his own mind.

Steve was quiet for a few minutes and it made Bucky so anxious he had to start focusing on the inhale and exhale of his own breath in order to avoid panicking.

“Gosh,” Steve said eventually, “You really have a problem with that, don’t you?”

Bucky felt himself grow stiff. There was no judgement in Steve’s tone, no pity, sympathy, or the worst Bucky had feared-disgust. There was only observation- which made Bucky distantly wonder if Steve had been actively thinking about him, too- and an element of disbelief that made Bucky want to break out into hysterical laughter.

The golden boy can’t believe he got stuck with the social pariah for a roommate, can’t even fathom that not everyone was as worthy as he was. That was the downside of the wonder Steve always had in him, Bucky thought. It came with a certain ignorance that someone could exist and not be as outspoken and significant to the world as he was.

He found himself as close to anger as he could get with Steve. “N-No, I, I don't have a problem. Steve, I just-- I don't _want_ to do it, okay?” he snapped.

Steve just blinked. Surprised, but not deterred. “All right. What if you didn't have to read? What if you just came and listened?” His tone was still so hopeful, it made Bucky ache inside. He wished he could have that much hope for simple things.

“That’s not how it works,” Bucky said quietly, self consciously picking at a string on his pants. He didn’t want them to coddle him, view him with pity or like he wasn’t able to be as good as them.

Even if that was the truth.

Steve let out an exasperated sigh and ran a fierce hand through his hair. “Forget how it works! What if, what if they said it was okay?”

Bucky’s head snapped up. “What? What, are you gonna go up and ask them if-- No, _no_.” Steve was smirking, shrugging playfully, and inching back towards the door to their room.

“I’ll be right back, Buck!” And with that, he dashed out the door and presumably down the hall to talk to their- _his_ \- friends.

“Steve!” Bucky called desperately. And then, louder. “ _Steve_!”

He was already gone. Bucky sighed.

How did that beaut bastard always get what he wanted?

-

“You’re in, Buck!” Steve shot him a dazzling smile. “Can it,” he ordered when Bucky opened his mouth to protest.

Bucky shut his jaw with a click. Bastard.

-

The first meeting of the Dead Poet’s Society made Bucky feel... things.

A lot of different kinds of things.

When Steve asked him about it later in their room, he was glad that it was dark because he didn’t want Steve to see how red his face had gotten.

“It was life changing, Buck!” his voice was too loud for the late hour, but filled with so much joy that Bucky couldn’t help the wistful sigh that escaped him.

He nodded, trying not to picture the way Steve’s lips fit around the words “ _I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow of life_ ”. That’s what ended up making him blush, red in the face at the deep timbre of Steve’s voice and the expression of wonder that he’d held while reciting.

It had only gotten worse when Tony had pulled out a porno mag that he had “written his poem on”. Bucky hadn’t looked, but he thought that Steve would have, so he snuck a glance at him when Charlie was displaying it and had been shocked to find that Steve was looking right back at him with a fond look on his face. He hadn’t looked at the magazine once the entire time it was out.

Bucky didn’t know what that meant.

Back in their room, Steve was still acting drunk on life. Even with Bucky’s agreement that the first meeting was indeed transcendent, he didn’t think a simple nod was good enough evidently. He gripped Bucky’s shoulders, still laughing and giddy.

“ _You flower, you feast, Buck_ ,” he whispered, eyes shining.

Bucky, smiling, had wanted to ask what that meant, but Steve had already let go and started to get ready to turn in for bed.

The spots where Steve had touched him didn’t stop tingling until Bucky had fallen asleep, lulled Steve breathing softly from across the room 

-

The next day, the high on life feeling Bucky had been experiencing secondhand from Steve ended.

A poem. To be delivered in front of the class, by next week. Read aloud, written about a moving, emotional topic.

As if that wasn’t enough, Erskine had given the assignment to the class with a dig towards Bucky attached to the end: “Mr. Barnes? Don't think that I don't know that this assignment scares the  
hell out of you.” His cheeks had burned.

He was still sulking when Steve dashed in. The boy’s pink cheeks and face were glowing. His smile was enough to make Bucky feel marginally better.

“I found it,” he breathed.

Bucky frowned, confused. “Found what?”

Steve crammed inside the room, a paper in hand that the shoved towards Bucky, who was curled up on his bed with a notebook in front of him meant to be filled with poetry.

“I found what I really wanna do right now. What’s really, really inside me, Buck,” he whispered reverently. He’s so purely joyous that Bucky’s heart clenches.

He took the paper from Steve’s hand and read: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“This is it,” Steve said happily.

“What is this?”

Steve walked over to Bucky’s bed and stood next to where he was laying. He looked down at Bucky with a teasing smile and let out a laugh that was closer to a giggle. “It’s a play, dummy.”

The teasing made Bucky’s stomach flip. He knew he visibly blushed. “I know that. I-- Wh-Wh-What does it have to do with you?” he asked shyly, still a bit confused.

“Right. They're putting it on at Henley Hall. Open tryouts. Open tryouts!” Steve shouted triumphantly, thrusting his fist into the air like he had already gotten a part.

Bucky was still watching him. He nodded slowly. “Yes, so?” He wanted to be sure he was thinking along the right lines.

“So, I'm gonna act. Yes, _yes_! I'm gonna be an actor! Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to try this. I even tried to go to summer stock auditions last year, but, of course, my father wouldn't let me. For the first time in my whole life I know what I wanna do, and for the first time I'm gonna do it whether my father wants me to or not! Carpe diem!” he ended his speech with passion, rolling on to the bed and grabbing Bucky’s shoulders just like he did the first night after the Dead Poets had met.

Only this time, Bucky wasn’t smiling. It still made his heart flutter, would likely never stop, but-

He was happy for Steve, always happy for Steve. But he was worried this time, too. Steve had such a habit of only seeing what he wanted to see, damn the critics and forces against him. He was the furthest thing from a realist. If he was the physical embodiment of hope, like Bucky always thought he was, maybe Bucky was the opposite.

Doubt. It plagued him constantly.

What would his father do to him? What would happen if Steve was turned down?

“Steve,” he said quietly, voice growing louder when Steve didn’t look at him. He tried to choose his words wisely. “Steve, hold on a minute. How are you gonna be in a play if your father won't let you?”

The look on Steve’s face was one of utter betrayal.

“Jesus, Buck. Who’s side are you on?” he said venomously, shoving himself off of Bucky and his bed. Bucky ached with regret when Steve turned his back on him, He told himself, firmly. It had needed to be said.

But the question- _Whose side are you on, Buck?_ hit him like a punch in the gut.

 _I will always be on your side, Steve,_ he wanted to say. _I wake up in this bed and love you sideways from across the room every day._

Silence had fallen upon them.

Steve was the next one to speak. “You’re coming to the meeting this afternoon?” he asked. He didn’t look at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged regardless. “I don’t know, maybe.” He wasn’t sure how welcome he was, now. Steve was the one he was closest to in the club- in general really. He liked to think it was the same for Steve, but if he had gone and messed it up...

This seemed to make Steve angry, for some reason. “Nothing Mr. Erskine has to say means to shit to you, does it, Bucky?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky whispered, hand clutching his notebook tightly. Steve _was_ mad at him.

“You’re in the club!” Steve snapped. “Being in the club means being stirred up by things. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool!”

That stung.

If only Steve knew- about how Bucky pined for him, ached for him, hungered for the ability to be stirred up like Steve was so freely able to be- Steve didn’t know about any of that, so Bucky tampered down the anger that had swollen up inside him because... Steve was right.

Bucky did his best to keep quiet. It was what he had to do, because anything beyond that wasn’t allowed for him- and if he slipped up- they would know. He just wanted to be safe. If he was safe and quiet, not noticed, no one could hurt him because no one would _know_.

He didn’t have the privilege to care about the things he wanted. 

“So, what, Stevie? You want me out?” he said, laughing bitterly when Steve raised an eyebrow at the rarely used nickname between them.

“No,” Steve said. “I want you in. But being in means you gotta do something, not just say you’re in.”

For someone who was “stirred up as a cesspool” Bucky had never felt more livid than he was at that moment. Steve Rogers had the audacity to look at Bucky like he was wrong for not having things come as easily to him as they did to Steve? If only he knew.

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky said, trying to keep his tone and emotions even. “I appreciate this concern but I’m not like you, alright? You say things and people listen a-and I’m-I’m not like that.” _Not everyone is like you_ , he wanted to say. _Especially not me_.

“Don’t you think you could be?” Steve asked, looking at Bucky with pleading eyes so hopeful, they were almost adoring.

“No! I – I don’t know,” Bucky said, desperately trying not to project his own perverse emotions onto what had become his best friend, the boy he was falling painstakingly in love with. “That’s not the point. The point is there’s nothing you can do about it. So, you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine. Alright?”

There was a long moment where the two of them stared at each other, Bucky, for once, finding the courage to keep eye contact with Steve without wavering. He had to do this, he told himself stubbornly. He was not getting someone as good as Steve Rogers tangled in his darkness.

“ _No_.”

The word was spoken so quietly, Bucky was almost unsure if he had really seen Steve’s lips move. “What do you mean _no_?” he asked incredulously, furrowing his eyebrows.

Steve only smiled. “No,” he said, strangely... happy?

And then Bucky recognized the look glinting in Steve’s eyes- just as Steve lunged to grab Bucky’s notebook.

“Stevie- No!”

But he was too late. For someone as built as Steve was, he was unfairly flighty. He had already bounded away to his own bed before Bucky could even stand up.

“ _We are dreaming of_ \- AHA! POETRY!” Steve yelled triumphantly. Bucky’s eyes widened as he heard Steve start to read from his notebook.

Oh.

Oh no- the poems- some of them were written about him. _For_ him- he couldn’t find out. Bucky, with a renewed reason to get his notebook back, sprang from his bed and started chasing after a laughing Steve, who danced from bed to bed.

“I’m being chased by Walt Whitman!” he exclaimed, smile on his face so wide that Bucky, despite the circumstances, couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Steve- Stevie, c’mon!” he begged, smiling and laughing, and so, so in love.

They were so enraptured with each other that they almost didn’t notice that Tony opened the door until he, too, joined in on the game of keep away. Sam and Rhodey weren’t far behind, and with all his friends around him, and the boy he loved looking at him like he had done something right, Bucky couldn’t help but bask in the brief moment of pure happiness he felt, even if he knew if was selfishly indulgent.

-

He tried to dwell upon that memory of happiness when Mr. Erskine had him in front of the class to read his poem, the one that didn’t exist except for in his head. He closed his eyes and felt Erkskine spinning him around, trying to force the words to come, but it didn’t work, until- it _does_. They tumbled out at last, stilted and stumbling, painfully raw and emotional as well.

He felt like he was being bared for the world to see.

_Because you are my nomad and I love you sideways daily._

_Sideways, because I have to beam my love in all directions, hoping it bounces off something and eventually finds you._

_It will always find you._

_Sideways, because I will always be on your side._

_Sideways, because I will lay on_ my _side in bed across the room from you loving you silently in the dark._

_I am reading your story as you write, wanting always to be a part of it-_

_I think sometimes it’s about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that’s okay._

_We dream and dream of being seen as we really are-_

_And then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up._

_Anyways, story received, name included._

_You looked at me long enough to see something mysterious under all the gruff and bluster._

_Thank you_.

_Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them._

_I’ll take any side that’s the one beside you._

When he finished spitting out his improved mess of a poem, he was met with silence. Erskine’s hands stilled over his eyes, and for a second he felt like he might die.

But then the room filled slowly with clapping, one, then two, then three, then maybe the whole class. Clapping- for him? 

Erskine took his hands away, and Bucky’s breath went with them. Because he’s sitting right there. Him, the boy the poem is for. The boy Bucky’s been looking at since the moment he met him- _Steve_ , right in front of them, sat at his desk and looking right back at Bucky like he’d hung every star in heaven. His jaw was slack, eyes gone soft in the way they always did when he heard a poem that struck his heart, and Bucky filled with so much wanting that it almost tumbled out of his mouth the same way his poem did.

Bucky wanted that look so badly to be for him as well.

And the most terrifying thing, is he thought that it might be.

-

They didn’t talk until that night.

Bucky was trying to act normal when he was feeling everything but. In fact, he still felt as lit up as he had been in English, but he didn’t know what to do. So he did what he did every other night, instead, and climbed into bed.

He could hear Steve on the other side of the room tossing and turning. Out of discomfort? Because he couldn’t sleep, or because he knew that Bucky was across the room, just as in love with him now as he had been that morning?

He’d thought himself halfway into a spiral when he heard him sit up.

“Buck?”

He forced himself not to exhale as loudly as he wanted to. “Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut and still lying face toward the wall.

“Your poem, today?” Steve’s voice was gentle, probing.

“What about it?” The fear crept up Bucky’s spine as he waited for Steve to go on, afraid of what he was about to say and ashamed of wanting him to the point of almost letting him know. In front of an entire class, nonetheless. What had he been thinking?

“Can I... tell you something about it?”

This made Bucky pause. He had never heard Steve’s voice hesitant. Had never seen Steve falter, except when it came to his father. He was terrified now. “Yeah?”

“This might be easier if we were face to face, Buck,” came the faint reply.

Bucky wanted to die and finally be alive, both at the same time.

He sat up in his own bed, slipped out of the sheets, and slowly crept over to Steve’s, inwardly reminded himself: don’t fuck this one up. Not him, too. _You can’t do this again._

Those thoughts faltered when he saw Steve look at him with the same expression he had been wearing that morning in class. He was sitting up in his bed, sheets pooled around his waist, moonlight from the window shining on his face.

He was so beautiful Bucky wanted to cry.

“Buck,” Steve whispered, soft and sweet. “C’mere.”

“Steve- we-“ he stumbled out. “What?”

“Buck.” The way Steve said his name, like it was something precious- oh, god, he was going to fuck up at Shield, too.

Just like Hydra.

That horrifying thought was what ripped the next words out of his chest.

“Stevie, we can’t- _I_ can’t do this- please,” he whispered brokenly. “Don’t.” He said the same think to himself in his head at the same time he spoke. _Don’t_. Not this time.

Steve stilled completely for a moment. His expression was almost hurt and Bucky hated himself even more for being the one who hurt him. “Buck? I don’t understand. You know that I... do you need me to say it, so you’ll believe me?” His voice was genuine, still full of wonder.

He was so kind, Bucky knew. His boy, his nomad. He was perfect. Still thinking about what Bucky wanted, even when Bucky had been nothing but selfish the whole time Steve had known him.

And Bucky will have ruined him.

”Don’t,” he croaked out. “Don’t say it- Steve, don’t say the words.”

Steve reached out a hand and withdrew it when Bucky flinched. “Buck, I-“ his voice faltered. “I won’t say anything you don’t want, but please- Buck, at least let me help. I want to help you-“

” _No one can help me_!” Bucky’s breath rattled in the silence that followed “You- you don’t feel the same, Steve,” Bucky let out hysterically. “You-“ He was crying now and he wiped furiously at his face, standing next to Steve’s bed. The blonde boy looked up at him in confusion.

“Buck,” he spoke out softly, voice somehow still calm, temper seemingly toned down for once in his life Bucky’s heart twinged at it. “Come here- please.”

Something about the quiet desperation in his voice made Bucky break.

He collapsed onto Steve’s bed, his outstretched arms, sobbing the entire time. “You can’t help me,” he choked out. “You- no one feels the same as me! You _can’t._ You aren’t like me, Steve, you can’t be, because I’m broke, and you- you’re perfect. You can’t be like me, and it hurts. But I’d rather hurt alone than bring you down with me,” Bucky finished, almost like a recital.

For all that he’d had trouble with memorizing poems and prose the entire semester he had known Steve, this piece was something Bucky had been practicing in his own mind for as long as he could remember. This was the first time he had ever said it out loud. It left him almost empty.

The truth was out now. They hadn’t said it in words, but Bucky knew. Steve knew. 

After that poem, maybe everyone else knew as well.

“You wanna know why I had to leave my last school, Stevie? Why I left Hydra?” Bucky asked, voice numb. He might as well get it all out, the whole story. Steve loved stories, didn’t he? “They- I got caught. Kissing a boy- my roommate, Brock, but when the headmaster came around the corner, he lied and said that I- I forced him into it. They expelled me the next day and told my parents what I had done. The whole school- they _knew_ , and I couldn’t go back. So I came here, after my parents spent the whole summer trying to _fix_ me. They thought... my dad did good here, so maybe I would get it right this time.” He hiccuped into a sob. “ _I_ thought I could get it right this time.”

Steve’s heart was breaking for this boy, this beautiful person he loved, curled up on his bed, in his arms, with so much self hatred kept inside of his mind- his beautiful, beautiful mind.

“I thought,” Bucky continued bitterly, body drawn up tight. “I thought that I could do it right this time, and I tried, but the first day I got here- I couldn’t even make it through the welcoming ceremony because- you walked in and I knew right then that I was just like they said I was. _Disgusting_.” The room felt to small for the amount of self loathing that filled the word.

“Bucky, no,” Steve whispered desperately. He pulled Bucky, still crying, closer. “ _They’re_ wrong, you’re not disgusting. You didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky said, tone disbelieving still. He was suddenly angry. Steve wasn’t getting it and Bucky wished he didn’t have to explain, but he did. Steve needed to see, as painful as it was to expose. “Then- why - why do I wanna kiss my roommate again when that’s the thing that got me expelled the last time, Steve? I’m no good for you. I could get you expelled, too, but I’m still selfish enough to want you,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s chest. His tears had soaked into Steve’s shirt. “You just had to come along and be you, huh, _Cap_?” he said roughly.

He’d never called Steve that before. That wasn’t who Steve _was_ with him. Cap wasn’t a persona- it wasn’t a show or played up act- it was just an extension of himself that Bucky knew Steve didn’t want to be all the time, so he wasn’t. Not around Bucky.

Cap wasn’t who Bucky was in love with. Steve was.

Normally the differentiation made Bucky feel kind of special, but right now...he thought if he said Steve’s name again, he might throw up. 

And wouldn’t this be something to explain to the nurse?

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Bucky tried desperately to stop more tears from falling. When Steve spoke again, his voice was soft again.

”No.”

Bucky’s head jerked up only to come eye to eye with the stubborn gaze of Steve Rogers’ he had come to know and love. “What do you mean no?” he asked incredulously.

It was almost painfully similar to the exchange they had shared the other day that had made Bucky smile. He wasn’t smiling now, just staring with a clenched jaw, expecting the worst.

Steve smiled, though, even if it was faintly. “No.” He took in a deep breath and brushed his fingers against Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky wanted to shudder.

“It’s not selfish when I want you, too,” Steve began quietly, words coming out as easy as ever. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you smile. Buck, when you delivered that poem today, it made me feel the same way that thinking about acting feels.”

Bucky’s breath hitched, and Steve’s fingers curled as he went on.

”Because- there’s two things in this world that I know are right for me, and that’s _acting_ , and it’s _you_ , Bucky Barnes,” Steve whispered.

Bucky froze. He couldn’t manage to get more than a single word out. “ _Me_?” he said, disbelieving.

Steve nodded. He brought a hand down and cupped Bucky’s face to make him look Steve in the eye. “You, Buck,” he said gently. “You’re not disgusting. You’re not broken, especially not for wanting me.” He pauses, and lets his next words out carefully, touch and tone fragile. “You make me- wonder. I always wonder, but you make that wonder turn into _words_ , Buck. You make a poet out of me, and I want you- I want _your_ words- just as bad, so please. Let me show you?”

Ironically, Bucky couldn’t get any more words out at that moment. He felt like his heart was in his throat.

Drowning out the textbook recitation of his father’s lessons, his last headmaster’s scolding, Brock’s voice- all the noise in his head, he nodded.

Steve studied him for a careful moment.

And then- he used both hands to cradle Bucky’s face like it was something precious, leaned in, and pressed their lips together. It lasted only a few seconds, but to Bucky it could have been a lifetime.

Because that’s what it had been to him. A lifetime of wanting something he was so sure he could never have.

After Steve pulled back, part of Bucky waited for the other shoe to drop. A punch, a shove, maybe just hard words? But none of that ever came, because Steve was smiling at him.

Bucky took in a shaky breath. “You really want me?” he asked cautiously.

Steve nodded, hands scrunching into Bucky’s shirt where they rested on his back. “I don’t just want you, Buck.“ He leaned their heads together. “I love you.”

Bucky smiled, hesitantly but happily. “I love you, too.” Steve wanted to kiss him again. So he did.

”I know,” he said simply after they’d both pulled away. At Bucky’s questioning look, his mouth curved up into a smile. “ _Poetry is the language of the heart_ ,” he quoted, letting Bucky nudge his nose against his cheek. “Haven’t you been paying attention to Mr. Erskine, Barnes?”

Bucky chuckled and leaned forward into Steve’s shoulder to muffle it out. “How could I, when you’re sitting in there across the room?” he muttered out after.

”You saying you have a crush on me?” Steve fake gasped, laughing at Bucky’s shoulder shove until Bucky leaned back up and stole a third kiss to shut him up. “You’re gonna bring down your marks.”

”Yeah,” he murmured against his lips. “But I think it’s worth it if I get to do this.”

Steve just hummed and let Bucky kiss him quiet. “Well,” he said after they parted, hands twisting together at their sides. “I guess there’s one lesson we both had sink in. Mr. Erskine was right.”

Bucky knew what was coming before Steve even said it, groaning prematurely for when Steve loudly whispered “Carpe Diem. Seize the day!” and tackled him in a hug that ended with the both of them shaking with laughter.

Steve was right too, Bucky thought, looking at Steve flopped on the bed beside him, messy haired and breathless.

You flower, you feast, indeed. 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are welcomed.


End file.
